


Threads and Of Happy Endings

by Bloody_Vixen



Category: The Tudors
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloody_Vixen/pseuds/Bloody_Vixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of AU bittersweet endings of Henry VIII's wives. Some will be happy and some will learn to be happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catherine of Aragorn

**Catherine of Aragon**

The winter was bitter and cold like her husband.

He was lying in his majestic bed, his once beautiful hair was now lank and damp, his soft lips, at once harsh and gentle, gaped silently; his eyes, that once stared down upon the Kings and Emperors of the World, gazed absently at nothing, the intelligence that burned kingdoms now reduced to the weakest flicker.

This was her husband, the King of England, facing death.

If her knees cried out in pain, she gave no heed for her eyes were only on him.

They were no longer passionate during the last few years, her life now reduced to clockwork of prayers, masses and their children and him on the wars of Spain and France. She had forgotten what he had felt like, how his kisses burned for hers and how they would lie next to each other, whispering about the concerns of the world as though they were but idle gossip.

A part of her, the young and foolish, prayed bitterly to return to those years before the wars, before the rebellion and before the illness that had struck. That part yearned to banish the counsellors and noblemen from the room and throw herself over her husband, wishing that her protestations of love would miraculously bring him back to health.

She wondered if this was what Juana had thought when Philip laid in the agonies of fever or how her own father had felt when her mother returned to the side of God during the dark years of their marriage, when the uncertainties and their fathers threatened to tear them asunder.

"Your Majesty," whispered the cardinal, so youthful and strange among the elderly men in the room, "Forgive me," he spoke gravely, "but it is time."

 _NO_ , she wanted to shout, _what you just spoke is treason! How can you even HINT of the King's death? Can you not see that he needs air, a walk, some more medicine or tonic, prayers andand…!_

Instead, Catherine moved closer to her husband and clasped his hands - cold, lifeless and unreal - into hers.

Suddenly, his fingers grasped hers tightly and his eyes came to life as they looked up and found hers.

"…Ca…therine…" he gasped, sounding desperate.

She fought back the urge to scream and beg him to get up and fight, for England, for their children, for her, _especially_ for her, and _pleasepleaseplease Jesusdonottakemyhusband!_

"Yes, Arthur?" she answered, her voice thick and comforting.

"…you…are…" he spoke, his eyes bore into hers, like all those times when he wanted to reassure her of things, "…you…will…" his lips opened and closed as though the words were difficult to form.

"Yes, my beloved?"

"…you are Queen!" he cried out, "…always!"

Catherine did not flinch as his fingers bore into her flesh and she felt fresh new tears pouring down her face, "…always, Arthur," she replied and she lifted his fingers to her lips.

As sudden as it came, Arthur, King of England, slumped back into the mattress and closed his eyes, his breathing shallow but at peace.

Catherine was aware of being led out of the room as the clergy remained to do Arthur's Last Rites.

It was not tradition for Queens to remain in the same room when the King dies and as Arthur had said, Catherine was Queen, now and always.


	2. Anne Boleyn

**Anne Boleyn**

The sun was high and weather fair.

She knelt onto the wooden platform, her head held high. Moments ago she was imprisoned with fear, her very soul clinging so desperately to her last hours on earth, every nerve burning for escape and hopes for salvation and yet…she felt calm.

Her suffering would end soon and that was all that mattered.

" _To Jesus Christ I commend my soul, Lord Jesus receive my…"_

The blade was strangely warm as it embraced her neck.

Anne woke with a start.

She could feel her heart thundering in her chest as the dream faded away, the horrors so stark and clear now muddled and hazy. The details sieved from her sluggish mind leaving behind nothing but a horrible, untraceable feeling.

It was not noon but dark at night. She was not kneeling but lying in bed and it was not a sword that caressed her neck but fingers, long and warm. She blinked and tried to familiarise her surroundings as a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her.

"Anne?" a tired voice came beside her. She turned and found herself facing her husband.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" he asked with concern, "…is it the nightmare again?"

She knew what he meant, the dreams that came to her since the Matter had started, one that was often very real even if reality suggested such end was impossible.

When she did not answer, he held her tighter and she could feel him breathing in her essence as though by doing so he could banish the nightmares forever.

"Anne, maybe we ought to arrange…"

"No," she cut him off, her voice stern. Seeing his startled face, she softened and smiled, "…this is just another nightmare. Once our son has come, it will end,"

"Of course," he answered, "It's just…you have not been resting well." He continued, his eyes betraying the depths of his worry. She looked away and snuggled closer, wanting to touch him, to know that what she felt earlier was just a dream and this was real, that she was safe and far away from all danger.

Henry sighed at his wife's stubbornness, knowing that Anne would simply shut him away if he continued to press the issue, so he turned to another topic. Slowly he moved his hand and gingerly touched her swollen belly. It has been nearly a year since they were both wed and part of them still counted their blessings that they were together.

Their marriage almost did not happen.

Though her husband found his courage and sought help from Wolsey, his father had nearly put paid to their betrothal. His death by the strange ( _"Miraculous" "Cursed"_ ) storm removed the final obstacle they had. Her father, once convinced that the benefit of the union outweighed the betrothal to James Butler, agreed that it was just a matter of getting the King's permission and finding the right priest.

It was bliss and when she was expectant, it felt like happiness would never end.

Until the Great Matter, until Henry had to leave and she was left behind with lies and poisons and the bleedings and near misses – his brothers ever vigilant for a weakness.

"Henry," she spoke.

"Yes, Anne?" he replied, his eyes still on her stomach, his face content.

"Would it…would it matter to you if our child turned out to be girl?" she asked, keeping her voice steady, her nerves steeled for the response.

Henry looked up, his expression puzzled and then, suddenly, an understanding.

"Oh, Anne, is that why?"

"Henry…" she started, clutching his shirt, burying her face into the crook of his neck wishing that she was not so unreasonable, "…ever since the whole Matter started, it started to get worse. I mean," her breath hitched and she cursed herself, "Your family…" she suppressed a hiss as the thought of them.

They had thought she was beneath them, a daughter of a mere knight ( _"A merchant's family!"_ ), never mind that her mother was a Howard and for that she was equal to his family name. She had promised to hold her head up high, to not let them get to her but the pregnancy had been difficult and lately she found herself unable to guard her thoughts.

On other days, the current politics surrounding the King and his Queen would have been nothing to her except for the usual court intrigue, but Henry's brothers had been venomous as of late. They had thought to sow seeds of mistrust when Henry was away and in her condition she believed it.

Her status was precarious in the family and she knew the way to silence them was to give birth to a grandson. No one would touch her then.

"Anne, it does not matter to me," Henry started, she opened her mouth but he jumped in, "No, Anne, I promise! All I want is for you to be happy and, God willing, for us to have a healthy child. We are young still, if the child is a girl, it does not matter!"

"Our marriage is unbreakable, no matter what my brothers had said. You are my wife and I, your husband. God had blessed our union and his Majesty, the King, had permitted us to wed."

He paused, as though surprised by his own words, "Anne, you gave me courage…and love, most importantly…love. I could not imagine a life without you by my side. Even if you gave me daughters, I'd still be happy."

She smiled and felt the ghostly executioner's blade pushed away from her, back into the dark recesses of her mind.

"To me, you are my one and only Lady Northumberland," he smiled and Anne felt her heart at ease, silently she chided herself for being so mistrustful.

"Have I not been always, my lord?" She kissed him and felt at peace again.

All was well.


	3. Jane Seymour

**Jane Seymour**

There were whispers at court.

The king had set his eyes on another.

_A Howard girl_ , they whispered, _very beautiful_ , they said, _a more pleasant view than the current Queen_ , a few spiteful had dared to spread.

The whispers had become so prevalent that even her family had found cause to worry.

"Mama! Mama!" a voice carried through the wind. A boy, a very young toddler ran across the garden, in his hand a small, beautiful flower. A small group of attendants trundled alongside him and though smiling, their eyes betrayed a practiced alertness.

"My darling Edward, what is it?" she smiled, bending down to touch his hair ( _blonde, like hers_ ).

He held out the flower to her. It was a bit crushed but he held it like as though it was a precious gemstone.

"For you Mama, the most _beautiful_ lady in the land," he announced in an imitation of his father. For a moment she could see the Henry that once adored her above all else, who promised her the world and more for giving him the one thing he desired.

That moment faded away and in Henry's place, stood Edward. _Her_ Edward, gazing up to her with nothing but complete and utter adoration.

"Thank you, Edward, I shall treasure it, always," she took the flower and placed it into her headdress.

Edward grinned and ran into her arms.

Her husband would never be faithful to her but she would always have her son's heart.

And that was enough.


	4. Anne of Cleves

**Anne of Cleves**

Her life was simple afterwards. The King, amiable, returned back to his court, occasionally asking for her advice and opinion if he felt like it. He was determined to keep her as a 'beloved sister' and it did not matter if they shared that one magical night together, she would never be anything else.

She was never to wed or to take a lover and never would a babe quicken in her womb.

There were times when she would have gladly traded all her titles, positions and wealth to have but one of them.

However, she often remembered the dead and the ever suffering living who orbited too close to Henry's eyes and was glad.

She would never have what should have been rightfully hers, but she would survive...and that was worth the price she had to pay.


	5. Catherine Howard

**Catherine Howard**

Catherine Howard was tired, sweaty and could barely open her eyes.

Her husband, the King held their babe with wonder and his eyes were red with tears.

"Here my son, the Duke of York," he whispered. She could hear his utterance of gratitude and her uncle, Duke of Norfolk congratulating and accepting the waves of guests in her stead. The Lady Mary had left the room to invite Prince Edward and Lady Elizabeth to celebrate the birth of their newest sibling.

It was faint, but she allowed herself a small amount of happiness.

When news came of Culpepper's death and Dereham's execution, it was all that she could do to not succumb to melancholy. Her husband's grief was understandable, for Culpepper had been one of his favourites, but, as Norfolk had warned her, to show sadness greater than the King would invite suspicion.

She remembered the argument they had and how eventually Norfolk warned her of what happened to Queens who shared too freely their favour.

Many had regarded Catherine as a young and foolish woman who had far too much vice to carry the grave duties of the Queen of England. Too few understood that with youth comes impressions and Norfolk had learned through years to impress his young niece on the dangers of the crown she bore.

She wondered what would have happened to her if her uncle had not, somehow, managed to miraculously gained back the King's favour. The King had been all but predictable. However, once Catherine announced that she was with child, he seemed kinder and more joyous than usual. Even Lady Mary answered her (many) overtures of friendship, though their correspondence were cold still.

Through her eyes she could discern that her boy's eyes were smoky blue (like his) and she found herself able to smile, sincerely for the first time.

She knew Norfolk would have words for her but she decided to close her eyes for now.

She had done her duty, let sleep come.


	6. Catherine Parr

**Catherine Parr**

When Baron Cromwell returned to court after the King's death, a few tongues waggled about his favour with the new Queen Regent.

It was known that during the King's long illness, there were whispers of how the King's Will were to be discarded and that despite all expectations, his soon-to-be widow, would not wield power during Edward's reign.

Outwardly the court still functioned as it would, as though King Henry were but a strapping young lad rather than an ageing man, broken by years of hardship and misery. Messages were passed through, contracts were signs, promises both made and broken.

Aside from Queen Catherine's small council, few knew just how much blood had been shed to assure her Regency.

Catherine had been known to be a gentle and kind woman but she was no fool. Henry did not leave her the realm during his war with France for nothing.

Cromwell resumed his duties as Chancellor, as though he had never left, as though his banishment was simply a long vacation that he required.

King Edward watched Cromwell with his keen eyes and Catherine wondered when it had turned so hard and so cold. Was it when they discovered the Seymour's deception? When the King himself had to banish one uncle and execute the other? (Her hand so steady shook with that memory) Or was it when he discovered that though his power was great, he had much to yield?

The King was only nine and violently pushed into the blood-thirsty world of politics before he could call himself a man.

There would be more to deal and tears to shed and the deaths that would never, _ever,_ end.

As King Edward sat on his throne, his tiny body radiated a kingly state that betrayed his youthful age; Catherine reached out to his hand. The boy King was sombre but he took her hand and squeezed in return. Suddenly, Catherine remembered the promise she had made to God regarding her role in England's court, when the late King came to her to bid for her hand.

It was clear what God had in store for her: forever to place duty before her own wants.

King Edward rose and began his court and Catherine wondered if one day her duty would ever end.


End file.
